


summer bummer

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cheating, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, alex is being stupid but i wrote it pretty??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:56:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11582295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: it's her scent. it's the children. it's his fists.another take on the hamilton-reynolds affair(for the wonderful anthxny, what a babe <3)





	1. rose garden dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anthxny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthxny/gifts).



> don't be like alexander, he's being a bad man

_ i. _

 

she leaves the room smelling like roses.

he didn’t mind in the beginning, instead embedding verse into her skin under heatwaves, taking in her scent. reclined beneath her sure-fire weight, fingered through her gradient curls, pulled at her magnetic hips—he couldn’t say no.

lions do not hesitate in devouring their prey.

“you’re an aphrodisiac,” he growls into her smooth swan neck, “my aphrodite.” and she breathes in rhythmic breaths, and the walls feel volcanic red, and they’re falling into a catastrophe bigger than the fall of rome. she’s his roman gold, value decreasing in every purchase.

she leaves for the day in a wisp of silk, his darling venus, his dearest aphrodite; he savors the last of her honey on his lips.

  
  


_ii._  
  


he thinks it’s her perfume.

that’s what his mother did in the summer, back on the islands when the weather was warm—danced in a haze of fragrance made from lilies and citrus to keep her cool. the calendar says it’s june now after all, half a year from his wedding day. he must be right.

(oh god, the white veils and alcohol and sisterly threats. his lover’s sad eyes and his bride’s endearing smile. the smell of gardenias come to mind.)

she comes to him bare, body serenading and lip quivering. he lunges, takes.

“why?” he asks her one day, caught in a miasma of rose petals. “how?”

she leans further into the vanity mirror, tugging at golden gradient coils, and sprays more fragrance behind her ears. “i have my ways.” her lips are glossy red. she can tie cherry stems with her tongue. her sighs sound like prayers, church hymns, layers upon layers of psalms.

that night, he cries for eliza on the mattress.

  
  


_ iii. _

  
  


he doesn’t notice the smell anymore once august comes around.

they’re on the couch, sipping at the blood red sangrias she made in his kitchen. (she feels like eliza from behind, he realizes as his arms wrap like snakes ‘round her waist. her skin’s too dark to be his wife, hair too tightly wound, stature a little too unsure, what a darling, darling, darling.) they’re making eyes at each other. extend their arms for fingers to meet, like a god reaching their adam.

they’re falling to pieces the moment hands become lips and lips become “love.” they’ve been falling to pieces since the beginning.

she lingers in bed later a moment longer than normal—enough for him to notice. “we’re a ruin,” she gasps beneath tears, as if she just realized. he looks at her oddly and closes his fist.

“yeah? that’s fine,” he says between coughs, as if he wants to comfort her. he’s been saying all the wrong things with her. he’s been doing all the wrong things. “but your husband’s got a chokehold on my bank account, baby.”


	2. have patience

_ i. _

 

the hamilton children in a neat little row:

philip, nine years old, vivacious and bright and brimming with excitement. he’s always been a leader with a charming smile and a spring in his step, and most importantly, he’s been getting taller by the minute. the children are jealous of him so, but no one can be cross with philip for long—everyone loves him. 

angelica, seven years old, compassionate and brilliant and always following at philip’s heels. she has her father’s voice, her aunt’s intelligence, and her mother’s tenderness, and her fingers dance so beautifully on both the strings and keys. her optimism can light up any room, so they say—everyone adores her.

alexander jr., five years old, perceptive and sensible and trying to figure out the ways of the world. he’s always been more quiet than his older siblings, his ideas brewing a bit longer than the others, but there’s more to him than at first glance. he always tries so hard, and his efforts are never fruitless—everyone is so proud of him.

james, three years old, giggly and fearless and exploring this bright blue planet with contagious curiosity. he’s a toddler still, not nearly old enough to follow his big brothers and sister around  _ everywhere _  just yet, but papa is a lenient man. oh, but he must keep adventures a secret, shhh! so he dons imitations of philip’s prowess, angelica’s skill, and alexander jr.’s insight, and he becomes himself—and for these things, everyone dotes on him.

and then there’s another on the way.

 

_ii._

 

don’t think that alexander stores his family away in his mind when they’re gone.

his mind is filled of thoughts of his philip and his angelica and his alexander jr. and his james every moment of the day. like clouds, they envelop him and he can’t see beyond this heavy fog until  _ she _ parts the way with her legs.

oh god. eliza.

he’s so sorry.

 

_ iii. _

 

“when are we going back home?” philip asks mama.

“in another week, baby.”

“i wanna see papa so bad,” angelica pouts.

“so do i, darling.”

“is he working hard?” alexander jr. wonders aloud.

“very very, dear. as hard as you are with your puzzle.”

“i miss papa,” james begins to sob.

“oh, we all do, honey. here, by my side.”

eliza lets them all sleep in her bed that night, legs and arms in each other’s faces and jabbing into stomachs. she considers calling alexander to ease her babies’ worries, but it’s too late now. the crickets are chirping, filling up an empty night. a light breeze enters the room; it gives her some sort of feeling. she puts a hand to her swollen stomach—she’s nearly due.

out the window, her husband throwing his life away by eating takeout and sleeping five hours per week. she prays to god: is he managing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> u thought i was dead


End file.
